Watching You Watch Him
by milverton
Summary: John and Sherlock are the only male teachers at an all girls school. They fall for each other but, since coworker relationships aren't allowed, they have to keep it secret. They come to find it's a bit difficult to keep the relationship under wraps.


The tl;dr for the prompt was **"Sherlock and John are the only male staff in a girls' school. They fall for each other but it's hard to stay in the dark surrounded by nosy women."**

\\

"Have you heard about Higgins?"

"Did the old sod finally die?"

"Elisa that's terribly crass!"

"The man is 70-something, Anna. It's not a long shot by any means."

"He didn't die for Christ's sake. He's retiring."

"Praise the Lord! Who is the lucky bastard taking his place? Not that I really care. I don't have to take biology this term. But you do, I know!"

"I don't know his name but I saw him interviewing with Headmistress Willis and—"

"On a scale of one to Holmes, how fit is he?"

"Hm. Um. I guess I'd give him a 7."

"Praise the fucking Lord!"

\\

The school is absolutely breathtaking. It's a massive mansion with dark bay windows, decorative brickwork in the shapes of diamonds, black barge-boards with a lace-type design, and sharp spires that cut elegantly into the grey sky. It sits on a hill, acres of well-tended land surrounding it and, behind the grand building, there are smaller buildings and, further yet, a cemetery.

John feels as if he's been transported back to Victorian times.

This mansion is where he's going to live for the next sixth months. Less than 24 hours ago he was sleeping on a lilo in his sister's dingy bedsit. He'd been trying, after returning to London from nearly a year abroad teaching English in Afghanistan, to get a job as a biology teacher but no one wanted to hire him. Some thought he didn't have enough experience but most were simply not hiring. Living unemployed and enduring Harry's alcoholism _every single day_ made his experience in London a complete nightmare. He knew he needed to get his act together and get Harry some help.

John truly didn't think he'd ever get out of that sad little bedsit nor did he think he'd bag such a great job. To top it all off, the school was not but a 15 minute drive to Harry's rehab centre. Some higher power clearly wanted him to be here, at this school.

John smiles to himself, then makes his way up the long path to the entrance, hefting his luggage along the way.

Headmistress Willis, an old, thin, aristocratic woman wearing a long, plain, black dress that goes down to her ankles, is there to greet him with a tight smile. The skin on her powder-white face is so pulled back because of overdone plastic surgeries that John figures she can_ only_ smile tightly. "Mr. Watson," she says with a nod. She holds out her hand limply and John takes it and gives it a light pump.

"Ms. Willis," John says with a bright smile.

"We are so very glad to have you here as a part of our fine institution."

"Thank you, yes. I'm very glad to be here," John says.

"I'm sure you are," she says dryly. "I cannot accompany you today, I'm afraid. I just wanted to give you my warm greetings. I have a monstrous amount of work that needs to be done. New semester duties. One of our best and brightest, Satya, will give you the grand tour then show you off to your room. Satya, darling?"

Satya enters the hall with a palpable air of pride. She is a short Indian girl, with hair that falls down to her lower back and has bright, piercing, green eyes. "Welcome, Mr. Watson," she says, shaking John's hand firmly. He smiles.

"Take care of him, Satya. Make sure he gets a thorough tour," the Headmistress says smoothly.

"Of course, Headmistress," she smiles and nods. The Headmistress waltzes out of the hall and John and Satya are left alone. "You can leave your luggage here. It'll be brought to your room." John obeys and someone scurries out of the shadows to take his bags, then disappears.

John looks at Satya expectantly. Satya sizes him up. "Before you ask, yes, these are contacts. I think it compliments my skin tone quite nicely."

John chuckles. "I'll have to agree. Your eyes look lovely."

Satya smiles, then claps her hands together. "Let's begin. This room isn't that interesting. Even the name isn't interesting. It's called the 'Hall.' Our Victorian forebearers weren't very creative," she explains. Satya begins to walk out of the hall and John follows obediently. They turn corners this way and that until they enter the assembly room. "We don't use this place much either, only for special events like concerts. We don't do assembly in here, we use the dining hall for that. It's my favourite room in the entire school. I like to come in here during finals, even though we have a rather nice library, and do my revisions. It's so quiet and far removed from all of the other rooms." They walk across the assembly room, John gaping at the high ceilings and undoubtedly expensive art hanging on the walls. "Can I just give you some advice?" Satya interrupts his gawping.

John looks at her. "That'd be appreciated, actually."

"You'll have to be careful when you say things like that."

John's furrows his brow. "Say things like what?"

"'Your eyes look lovely.' As you know, this is an all girl's boarding school."

"Mm yeah, I was aware of that fact."

"And you are a man. Need I say more?"

John scrunches up his nose in distaste. "You don't have to worry about that."

"No?"

"I'm not like that. I mean, I would never pull anything like that. I'd like to think of myself as a professional, you know?"

"Oh, no. I was not implying that you're the problem. The girls will be. Some of them, not all. If you say the fewest words of praise, they won't stop fawning."

John blushes a bit. "I'm way too old for you lot."

Satya laughs. "Age is just a number in this school, Mr. Watson. Believe me. Even Mr. Higgins, who was 73 years old, had his share of propositions."

They share a laugh and continue the tour in silence. Satya stops every so often to allow John to peer into the empty classrooms, the library, and other rooms. Most of the girls are still on Christmas holiday, so the place is deserted.

Once they get to the dining hall, John speaks up. "So. What about…the other teachers?"

"What about them?"

"How are they?"

"Oh. Well. Some are brilliant. Some are kind. Some are rude. Some are interesting. Some are boring. _Most_ of them are easy to get along with, I'd say. Except..."

"Hm?"

Satya shakes her head. "You'll see soon enough."

They continue touring the building and its endless amount of rooms for another hour until, finally, they end up at John's room.

John holds out his hand and Satya shakes it firmly. " I think this is going to be a good semester. I can feel it," she says.

"You know, I think you're right. Thanks for the tour."

"Not at all. Have a good night, Mr. Watson. See you in class." Satya smiles, turns, and disappears down the corridor, leaving John alone to unpack.

\\

The day before classes, all the girls—the ones who'd gone away for Christmas—return in a flurry of excitement and anticipation. John watches them file into the building, luggage in tow, from his window, chattering animatedly among each other. Despite how physically large the school is, there isn't really a substantial amount of students at all. It is a selective school, John knows, but he thinks it wrong that more girls should be denied when there is so much space (though, there's also the factor of the expensive tuition).

John hasn't met any other teachers yet. The teachers are only just moving back in two hours before the "welcome back feast" in the assembly hall and he hadn't wanted to bother any of them, so he waits until it is nearly time to go to the feast to emerge from his room. The teacher's dorm hall is deserted and John figures they have all already gone.

He gets to the dining hall easily and feels very much on display as he catches Headmistress Willis's eye and heads in her direction. "Mr. Watson," she says when he appears before her, "the teachers are all there," she points an elegant finger over his shoulder. "Do acquaint yourself. And enjoy your food." John looks over to see a group of adults chatting noisily, paying no one else any mind. He notices, startlingly, that they are all women. He's not uncomfortable with women, he just hadn't expected to be the only male teacher. He thanks Headmistress Willis and takes one of the two empty seats at large round-table of teachers. Everyone stops talking and twenty-two eyes bore into him.

"You must be John Watson!" cries a cheery, elderly women next to him. "I was wondering when you'd turn up!" She shakes John's hand excitedly. "Lovely to meet you. I'm Martha Hudson. I teach Theatre." Martha goes on to introduce every woman at the table and they all give John eager smiles and terse waves of acknowledgment. There's Emma Wheatley, Calculus, Leila Hadad, Pre-Calculus, Theodora Islington, Algebra, Molly Hooper, Physics, Victoria Spellman, History, Pamela Nighyberry, Literature, Irene Norton, Choir, Sally Donovan, French, Christina Olson, Art, and Charlene Reynolds, Athletics.

"There's only one more of us but he's not here," Martha says. He? John feels a wave of relief wash over him.

"Why not?" John asks.

"Because he thinks he's better than us._ Bâtard," _Sally says.

"That's not true. I think he has a phobia of eating in front of people," Christina says. Everyone gives her doubtful looks. "What? I never see him eat."

"No, he just thinks it's boring," Molly says matter-of-factly. "I work closely with him, you see," she directs to John, "He's in the science department. I'm Physics, he's Chemistry. You'll get to know us both rather well, actually..."

Later, after the food arrives, there's a bell sounding and the hall is rendered silent immediately. The Headmistress is stepping up to the podium with a champagne glass in hand.

"I welcome you ladies back and hope you have all had wonderful holidays." Applause. "It's splendid to see all of your familiar, shining faces once again. And some new faces," she nods at John, then turns back to the crowd, holding up a glass. "If you all could join me in a toast."

Martha hastily pours champagne into John's empty glass and he holds it up along with everyone else. The Headmistress continues with a short speech about the history and prestige of the school then, lastly, says, "Let our spirits be strong, our minds sharp, and our hearts full of passion throughout this upcoming spring. Here's to another spectacular semester!"

John clinks glasses with his fellow employees, chugs back the champagne and gets a comfortable, warm feeling in his stomach that settles and remains until he turns in for sleep.

\\

"Christ Almighty above, Alice. How am I supposed to concentrate? Mr. Watson is _fit_."

"He's not that fit. You're just desperate."

"And you're just a big lesbo."

"Oi, shove it!"

"Ow! It's okay. We all accept and love you for who you are."

"Fuck off."

"You should stay away from the gym. That hurt. Anyway. Your disinterest just means more for me."

"Like you even have a chance. More than half the class will be pining."

"I will emerge victorious!"

"That's pitiful. You're pitiful."

"I bet Mr. Watson's kinky. The plain-looking ones are always the wildest in bed. What do you think, Al? I think so. I'd love to find out."

"Oh for fuck's sake. I'm not sitting next to you in this class anymore."

\\

The first day had gone very well. The class had been attentive and interested and everyone made John feel at home. The girls were charming, mostly, perhaps, at times, too charming but John did his best to fend off all of that nonsense.

John has an hour to kill after he's gone through his first three classes, and stumbles across the chemistry lab just down the hall. When he opens the door he sees someone, a tall, spindly man bending over and washing his hands in a sink that's far too low to the ground for his height.

"Ah. Sorry for-"

The man turns around and John's speech breaks abruptly. He's stricken by sharp, angular features and piercing blue-grey eyes and wild, dark hair. The man regards John for a moment. "John Watson. The new Biology teacher, I presume. Sherlock Holmes, Chemistry," he says, his voice like melted chocolate, taking only two strides forward and holding out his hand for John. John shakes it.

"Yes, hello," John says, after coming to his senses, "Nice to meet you finally."

"Finally? Ah, of course, they've been saying things about me. Don't listen to them; they know nothing about me," Sherlock says, annoyed, "I'm overly pleased that Higgins is finally gone. He was incredibly dull. I hope you're not dull. Might I use your mobile? My battery's dead and I forgot my charger."

"Um. Sure," John says, fishing in his pocket for his mobile and handing it over. Sherlock thumbs through it and shoots off a text.

"Alcoholic or drug addict?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Is your sibling an alcoholic or drug addict?"

John gapes. He hadn't told anyone in the school about that. He feels like he's been smacked in the face. "What? How did you—"

"The mobile. There are scratches just here, you see. Shaky hands. You'll never see an alcoholic or drug addict without tell-tell scratches on his mobile. There is a well-known rehabilitation centre very close to the school. It's likely your sibling is staying there, and you are working here to be closer to him or her in case of emergency. Oh, also, you taught overseas and when you moved back home you could not find a job in London. This mobile is a gift from your brother, 'Harry,' or perhaps sister, 'Clara,' as seen by the engraving on the back. 'Clara & Harry 03.04.08' Anniversary date. They had a falling out and Clara or Harry gave this to you as a gift. It would obviously be too painful to hold on to. Am I wrong?"

John needs to take a moment to let that all sink in. "How did you-you're...right. It's all true. Except Harry is my sister. But, wow. That's amazing. How did you do that?"

Sherlock looks very pleased. "I am fond of the science of deduction and induction. I think, in another lifetime, I would have made a very good detective."

"I'll say," John says, still in shock. Sherlock hands John back his mobile and he pockets it. John watches him glide to the door.

"Well, I must be off. I have class in five minutes," Sherlock says, darting out of the classroom. A second later, he pops his head back inside and adds, "My room is 221. You should stop by." It wasn't a question, it was a command. "Adieu." He winks and he's gone.

John stares at the door, thinking of nothing but Sherlock Holmes.

\\

"My goal in life is for Holmes to shag me."

"Wow, way to reach for the stars, Kim."

"Kim, he wouldn't be interested. I haven't heard one girl say they've been successful with him."

"Yeah. And I don't think his resistance to the girls who try to get a leg over is an ethical thing either."

"Personally, I think he's gay."

"I don't know, Georgia. I don't get that vibe from him."

"There are gay vibes? So am I tickling you, Melissa? Tickling you where it feels good? I would like to, but you're infuriatingly straight."

"Shut up Claire. You know what I mean. And you have a girlfriend, you little shit! Anyway, Georgia, I think I have good gaydar and I don't sense it from him."

"I bet I set off your gaydar so hard you nearly died."

"You did, Claire."

"Good."

"I'm standing by my assumption that he's gay."

"I can't even picture him having sex."

"I sure can. And I have. Multiple times. In various ways. With me."

"You're a massive perv, Kim, you know that?"

\\

Every time John tries to visit 221, the room that just happens to be down the hall from him, no one answers. John hasn't seen Sherlock for two days and has run into every teacher but him on his strolls through campus, hoping to casually bump into Sherlock.

He doesn't see the man until Saturday afternoon, which is everyone's day off.

John had brought his lunch, salmon and potatoes, from the cafeteria outside. It's a beautiful day, if a bit nippy. John sees a male figure in the distance, standing on a mat in a kind of warrior pose, in the middle of the campus's field.

John finishes his meal and heads over to where the man—who is obviously Sherlock—is exercising.

Sherlock is wearing form-fitting Yoga pants and a short-sleeved shirt that displays the contours of his well-defined torso and crescent hips. John does his very best not to stare at the man's shapely-looking arse. He manages to say, composed, "Aren't you cold?"

Sherlock glances over at John. "The sting of the cold air is refreshing," he stretches deeper into the pose, "I've just quit smoking. I'm hoping this will get my mind off of the withdrawal because I've run out of nicotine patches. I did meditation when I took Jiu-Jitsu classes, and it helped 'clear the mind' slightly, I suppose. Nothing could ever fully clear my mind, though. It goes and goes and never comes to a complete stop."

"When did you quit?"

"Several days ago. Promised mummy over Christmas I'd quit for her. She's going to die soon, so I thought I'd give it to her as a dying wish."

"That's terrible. I'm sorry."

Sherlock nods. "That's life."

"Wait, so, you ran out of nicotine patches that quickly?" John asks.

"I...may use a lot of them at the same time."

"Jesus. That's not healthy!"

Sherlock shrugs. "Well, I'm not using them right now, am I?"

John doesn't argue with that. Sherlock changes positions, switching from his left to his right foot. For the first time, John notices that across the field there are a group of girls sitting on the grass and watching them intently.

"I see you have an audience," John says, amused.

"Hm?" Sherlock's eyes slide off of John to the girls then back to John. "Oh. Yes, they always do that. Haven't anything better to do."

John waves to the girls and only one or two of them wave back. "Just curious. Do you ever go to your room? Whenever I stop by you aren't there."

Sherlock rolls up his mat up and shoves it into a rucksack, which he slings over his bony shoulder. "I'm a busy man." He begins to walk toward the school and John catches up and falls in step with him.

"If I may, Mr. Holmes."

"Sherlock, please."

"If I may, Sherlock. Where the hell are you sleeping if not in your room?"

"I'm in the lab."

"You sleep in the lab."

"I don't really sleep. Much," he admits. "I like to think up interesting and complex experiments for my classes. I hate the ones that come with the textbooks. They're too oversimplified."

John laughs and shakes his head. "The girls must _love_ you."

"Too much," he mutters. They continue on into the cafeteria, and John ignores the stares on Sherlock's behalf. They go up the stairs toward the dorms and several girls in casual dress pass them, barking out brisk 'hellos' and 'sirs' on their ways down. "I like to give them forensic scenarios for lab," Sherlock says.

"Yeah? Like what?"

"The latest one had them conducting a spot test to analyse unknown narcotics from a made-up crime scene. I obtained several GCMS for them to use."

"Sorry if I sound daft but what's GCMS?"

"You do, but that's all right. No, don't look at me like that. Most people do." John grimaces and Sherlock continues, "Gas Chromatograph Mass Spectrometer. It essentially combines gas-liquid chromatography and mass spectrometry to identify unknown samples."

"Nice. How'd you get those? Sounds a bit professional for student experiments."

"I have my ways."

John raises a brow but he doesn't question it.

"This is me," Sherlock says when they get to 221. Sherlock's eye travels up and down John appreciatively and John feels very much on display but he thinks he likes it, if it means being on display for Sherlock. "Just going to have a shower. If you'd like, after, I could show you the GCMS experiment. It may be of interest to you if you wish to create your own experiments for your class. I know Biology requires at least two experiments this semester."

John clears his throat and smiles. "Yeah, okay. That'd be nice. Cheers."

"Meet me at the chemistry lab in exactly 18 minutes from now."

John laughs. "That's rather specific."

"Yes," is all Sherlock says, then unlocks the door to his room, steps inside, and closes it.

John goes back to his room and counts down the minutes until he can see Sherlock again.

* * *

**AN: This is a fictional school with fictional academic rules. It is not modeled off any school in the UK.**


End file.
